


In the Moonlight

by hazelandglasz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: I was prompted on Tumblr for a ficlet with our angelic idiots and "First kiss" + "Open your eyes"Title from LAdy Antebellum "Just a kiss"





	In the Moonlight

Most of the time, Aziraphale doesn’t need physical proof of Love.

First of all, he feels it, so there’s that taken care of. And second of all, he does believe that each individual (humans, angels, demons, even God) expresses their love in their own, individual way.

Like someone asking a friend to let them know when they’re home safe–that simple sentence is filled with love.

Like someone bringing a significant other a special edition of an apocryphal text.

(”Really, Crowley dear, you shouldn’t have, it’s magnificent.”

“At least while you’re perusing it I know you won’t try to tell me that I’m nice.”

“But it is nice of you–”

“Careful, angel, I’m not above burning them on the spot.”

“… Thank you Crowley.”

“Sure, sure.”)

But every once in a while, Aziraphale needs to give *his* love a physicality that cannot be denied. A gesture of affection that is undeniably of a romantic nature.

That’s how they first kiss, truth be told.

Over simple, warm chocolate, made from scratch by a very attentive demon one Saturday afternoon, with warm milk, dark chocolate and honey in it.

Crowley didn’t say a word, he picked up Aziraphale empty mug and brought it back full, put in on their coffee table and sat back on the couch before picking up one of his comic books.

Aziraphale glances between the mug and his demon before leaning to the side to press a kiss at the corner of Crowley’s mouth.

“Thank you, dear.”

Crowley turns a very interesting shade of red–one might call it burgundy, even–before clearing his throat. “What was that?”

It takes Aziraphale far too long a moment to understand what is the “that” in question. “A token of my gratitude?”

Crowley turns on the couch to face him. “That was a kiss, angel.”

“… I am aware. Should I have asked before kissing you?”

“No!” Crowley runs his fingers through his hair, making them stand in every direction. It’s rather adorable, if Aziraphale may say so. (And even if he may not). “I mean, yes, sure, consent is important, but no, you don’t have to ask me! I thought–I thought you didn’t want that!”

“That?”

“Physical marks of affection!”

“Oh. No, I think I could want that.” Aziraphale pauses, taking a sip of his cocoa and wiggling on the spot at the amazing taste of it. It’s almost like he can taste Crowley’s love, it’s delicious, everyone should try it.

Or not, he muses, something bitter spoiling the cocoa in his mouth. Only he gets to taste Crowley’s love.

“Do you–do you want?” Crowley’s starts, pushing his glasses on top of his head. “me? To kiss you? More often, perhaps?”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, mirroring his posture on the couch. The demon looks torn apart between two emotions, between the incipit of elation and the anticipation of disappointment.

“I would love that,” Aziraphale says softly, reaching to cup Crowley’s cheek, pulling it toward him. 

And this time, when their lips are pressed together, there is no possible way to deny what the gesture means.

It is not a mark of friendship, it is not a thoughtless gesture.

It is a whole dialogue happening between their earthly bodies, exchanging Love and renewing their unspoken vows to each other.

“Angel?”

“Hm?”

“Open your eyes, please?”

Aziraphale slowly opens his eyes, reluctant to leave the state of bliss he was in after kissing his demon for a time period which spans between a couple of seconds and half of eternity. The sight that welcomes him back to reality is worth it, though:

Crowley’s eyes are wide opened, their yellow looking slightly warmer than usual, but it’s his smile that blinds Aziraphale, effervescent with joy and light.

(Reminds him of an angel he used to know, before the F–oh.)

“Are you all right, angel?”

Aziraphale beams at him, at his demon with a heart of gold, and pecks his lips one more time. “Never better, dear.”


End file.
